


Mercury Unbound

by melagan



Category: SCP Foundation, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9056434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: On his way home from Area 51, Rodney McKay hits a stranger (John Sheppard) with his car and brings him home to recover. Things are a lot more complicated than they first appear.





	

Rodney turned his wipers on high, gripped the steering wheel tighter, and cursed the sudden downpour. The storm had risen up out of nowhere, complete with a vicious wind that threatened to drive a branch through his windshield. Instead of a peaceful moonlit drive, with a chance to think and unwind after a long, frustrating workday, Rodney found himself struggling to keep his car on the road. 

A crack of thunder split the air and a man jumped out in front of him. Swearing, Rodney hit the brakes. His car slid on the wet road. Unable to stop in time, he heard the sickening thud of a body striking his fender. "Oh, God." 

Pulling over he jumped out of the car and ran over to the man lying in the road. "Mister, are you all right? Oh fuck, please be all right." He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, unsurprised to see no bars available. 

Kneeling in the road, already soaked through to his skin, he tried feeling for a pulse. His knuckles scraped along rough bristles as Rodney moved the soft collar of the man's coat aside to feel for a pulse. His skin was warm to the touch, but wet. So wet. Rodney shoved aside urge to panic. It couldn't be blood. It was the rain. Had to be, because no one could bleed out that fast. He almost had a heart attack on the spot when a hand reached out and grabbed him. 

"I'm okay. I think." The man grasped Rodney's wrist and held on as if his life depended on it.

"Can you walk? Because we really need to get out of this storm before a tree falls down on us, or worse." Rodney tugged on the man's coat, urging him to stand. "My car's just a few feet away." 

"Yeah." 

To call it walking was a massive exaggeration as far as Rodney was concerned. Limping with help was more like it. Dragging certainly fit. He hoisted the man up, using his shoulders for support and carrying most of the weight. It wasn't elegant, but at least they were moving steadily closer to his warm, blessedly dry car. 

It wasn't until they crossed in front of the car's headlights that Rodney got a good look at the stranger. What he'd taken for a long, black coat...wasn't a coat at all. It was wings. The man had wings. Body length, black, and very wet, thickly feathered wings. He drew his breath in through his teeth, ready to ask a million questions. One look at the pale, pain-filled face of the man leaning against him was enough to make him hold his tongue. For now.

"I usually hide them better," the man mumbled against Rodney's neck. "You caught me at a bad time."

"Yes, well," Rodney huffed, "that much is obvious." Nixing the idea of using the passenger seat – no room for the wings – he opened the door to the rear and used one hip to brace it open against the wind. 

"Got a name?" Rodney asked. "Because calling you the demon stranger is going to get old, fast."

" Sheppard…John." He slumped against Rodney's chest. "Not a demon," he slurred into Rodney's wet coat.

"I'm Rodney McKay. Doctor Rodney McKay, but not the sort that can help you right now. Sorry."

"You're helping me plenty. Thanks."

Between the two of them, they got John settled in the back. Rodney slid into the driver's seat. He wanted to lean his head against the steering wheel and take a few minutes for the world to make sense again, but he didn't have that luxury. The storm wasn't letting up and he needed to get both of them somewhere safe. 

A bolt of lightning struck a tree next to them, close enough to make the hair on his arms stand up. With a loud crack, the tree began to topple over and Rodney hit the gas. The tree missed the car but blocked the road behind them. 

"Close one," John said, from the back.

"Yes, yes it was. Shut up now so I can concentrate on getting us home safe."

"Home?"

“That tree just blocked the way back into town, so you're stuck coming home with me."

Concentrating on the road ahead of him, Rodney never noticed the tiny smile on John's face. 

He'd barely driven a mile down the road when the sky cleared, the storm over as abruptly as it had begun. Relieved, Rodney looked up at the stars and finally relaxed his grip on the steering wheel. 

***

The director of the SCP, Serge McGovern, clamped his jaw shut. He'd learned through the years to keep his temper, at least until all of the facts came in. The report on his desk looked bad, but rushing into the unknown rarely worked out well. 

Admittedly, that's what they did here at the Foundation. His job was to secure and contain extraterrestrial, extradimensional, and other extranormal influences, and to protect humanity from said anomalies. Sometimes that did involve rushing into the unknown, but he'd be damned if he'd send good men out into a dangerous situation before he had all the facts he could get his hands on. 

He slapped the file down on his desk. Their guest had escaped. John Sheppard was a creature best described as a dark angel – a cross between a man, an angel and some deviltry thrown in for the hell of it. Worse, John was their only liaison between Earth and the Interdimensional Interspecies Court, and the only one to ever traverse the corridors between them successfully.

Sheppard had been less than thrilled by the SCP accommodations. Being kept underground had annoyed him, and Serge felt a twinge of guilt over that. While they'd tried to set him up with a suite of rooms befitting his status as Court Emissary, they didn't dare give him access to the sky. It was a small comfort now that the IIC had agreed to their terms.

Serge pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He wasn't going to think about that other thing right now. They'd just have to tackle one problem with Sheppard at a time. He hit the intercom. "Marjory, set up interviews with everyone on the base who had contact with John Sheppard within the last twenty-four hours."

Now he had to wait. Serge hating waiting, almost as much as Sheppard hated being called a demon.

*** 

Rodney pulled into his garage, away from the prying eyes of his inquisitive neighbors. He'd lived here long enough to know they were overly curious about his business. Keeping John's presence a secret wasn't going to last long. 

"We're here." He turned to see how John was doing. He'd passed out, his wings stretched limply over the seat, still dripping water. John's black feathers and dark hair were a stark contrast to his too-pale face. At least he didn't seem to be bleeding anywhere. Rodney reached out to shake him awake.

John's eyes fluttered open. "Ow."

"Oh good, you're not dead. Unless you're a demon – what with the all-black fashion statement going on, in which case, not so good. You're not, are you?" 

John just stared back at him, which didn't make Rodney feel any better. 

"Do you need help getting out?" Rodney got out and held the car door open. When John didn't move, he held his hand out to him. "Stop being so damn stubborn and take it. The sooner we get inside, the sooner we can dry off."

"That mean you're willing to trust a demon?" 

"Don't be so sensitive. Besides, I never make judgement calls while caffeine deprived." He waved his hand in front of John's face, refusing to react to the exhausted slur in John's voice. "Just take my help already before I change my mind."

Taking the brunt of John's weight on his shoulders, Rodney managed to get them into his house without further injury to either of them. They stepped inside the door and for the first time he realized how small and cramped the place looked. 

He'd been so glad to get out of Russia and away from the cold, he'd taken the first available place within decent driving distance to his work at Area 51. In hindsight, it was possible that he should have been pickier. At least the place was clean. Rodney was germ phobic enough to make certain of that.

Granted those clean surfaces were currently covered with assorted stacks of papers and books, but it was organized clutter. Rodney's filing system might be unconventionally organic, but he could lay his hand on exactly what he needed at any moment. That was far more important than the fact his corner computer office had somehow, and apparently without his notice, migrated across half of the living room.

Cables and gadgets spread out across the floor in an ever-widening circle. If they'd been sentient, he'd be dead by now. He cut a trail by nudging the pieces away with his foot, and half-carried, half-guided John to the couch. "You have no idea how lucky you are we don't have Replicators here."

John patted him on the shoulder and offered up a weak smile. "Actually, I kind of do." 

That was more cryptic and flat out worrisome than Rodney was ready to deal with right now. Not to mention disturbing. If John knew anything about Replicators, it just earned him another point in the demon column. 

"Stay." Rodney grabbed a couple of towels from the bathroom and threw them at John. "Do not turn my couch into a sopping pile of foam. I'll never get the mildew out. I have allergies… oh crap, the neighbors!"

Panicked, he rushed around the apartment, making sure all the window blinds were closed. He spared a glance at John, who was trying to drape the towels over his wings without much success. 

"Give me those before you sprain something and make it worse." Rodney grabbed the towels from John's hand and paused. Feather drying was miles away from his areas of expertise, but he was a genius, he could figure this out. 

"Sorry, guess I must have wrenched something when I hit your car." 

As water pooled onto the floor, Rodney realized they were going about this all wrong. Bathroom, hot shower, dry clothes and… "Um, how well do you think your feathers will hold up to a hair dryer?" 

"Guess we'll find out." 

***

Serge had once overheard his people refer to him as a graying, blond Sergeant Fury, only with more menace and no cigar. Privately he agreed, except for one detail. He lacked the eyepatch.

He felt a distinct need for someone or something to glare at. The interviews hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped. The clock was ticking and they still hadn't found Sheppard. Not a one of them had thought to put a tracker in him; the dark angel's lazy compliance had fooled them all. 

Mitchell stuck his head in the doorway and Serge waved him in. 

"You'd better have good news, Mitchell." 

Cameron Mitchell was the SCP's golden boy, and Serge had practically stolen him out from under General Hammond's nose. He'd have never gotten away with it if Colonel O'Neill had been on top of his game, but the Colonel had been on ice in Antarctica at the time. Literally.

"What have you got?" 

"Our tech guys have been going over his laptop and we think we found a clue to his whereabouts."

"How the hell did he get his hands on a laptop?" The vein in his temple began to throb and Serge ground his teeth. "Never mind. I can guess. The bastard charmed it out of one of our lady lab rats, didn't he?"

"Yes and no." Mitchell grinned. "Calvin's no lady. If it helps, he got over his broken heart in no time and helped dig this information out of Sheppard's hard drive."

Mitchell handed him a manila file folder with _Top Secret_ stamped in big red letters across the front. Serge took it, not bothering to conceal his grimace. The SCP had access to some of the best encryption devices on the planet. Only they couldn't use it, because the odds were too high of a class Euclid object corrupting it. 

"It seems our missing emissary was doing an awful lot of research on Dr. Rodney McKay," Mitchell said. 

"McKay. Is that the same man...?"

Serge inspected the photo and had his answer. Taken when he was in his early thirties, it showed a man with broad shoulders, a slightly soft middle in the way desk jockeys tended to be, but with a firm, pugnacious chin that belayed any assessment of softness. Even in the photo, Dr. McKay's direct gaze was guileless. Serge doubted the man could tell a convincing lie if his life depended on it. 

The Foundation could have cared less what he looked like; it was his mind that had their attention. He had the best grasp of quantum possibilities Serge had ever seen. If anyone could dig out answers to solving their paranormal headaches, it was McKay. 

It pained him to admit it, but in an odd way, Sheppard and McKay were a match. If Sheppard was the lock to paranormal interdimensional multiverses, Dr. Rodney McKay was the key. 

"The man whose genius brain caught the Foundation's interest?" Mitchell answered, interrupting Serge's thoughts. "It's the same man, all right. You'll find everything we have on him in that file. We think Sheppard is out there trying to save him – from us." 

Mitchell's dry, southern charm didn't fool Serge for a minute. He was fishing for something – probably the truth. Serge was feeling just frustrated enough he might give it to him. 

"I should point out that Sheppard had some funny ideas about what we wanted to do with McKay's brain," Mitchell continued. "Somehow, he got his hands on the video feed for SCP-002. I don't have the full brief on SCP-002, as my clearance doesn't go that high, sir." He paused, clearly hoping Serge would take the hint and grant him the necessary clearance on the spot. 

Not going to happen. Mitchell wasn't ready to know what that particular containment held. Besides, Serge needed him for something else. Although, if they didn't locate Sheppard before zero hour it wasn't going to matter. 

Fixing his sharp gaze on Mitchell, he asked, "And you think McKay has something to do with Sheppard's disappearance. Why is that, exactly? Because I know for damn sure McKay doesn't have access to this facility."

Mitchell met his eyes straight on, without a flinch. "Sir, we believe that something in that video feed caused Sheppard to believe that the Foundation wanted McKay's brain and didn't necessarily need his body to go with it." 

With a dry cough, Mitchell added, "He seems to have become quite taken with Dr. McKay for more than his brain, sir. Calvin uncovered a file with these photographs featuring various aspects…." 

Mitchell stared down at his shoes. "I don't know how Sheppard found the pictures, but as you can see from the photos… in his youth McKay supplemented his college grants by posing for an art class. And did quite well at it."

Serge held up his hand. "Stop. You've given me enough information already. "

He flipped to their most current photo of Dr. Rodney McKay taken two weeks ago. As an adult, McKay had finally grown into his shoulders. His blond hair had changed to a darker, sandy color that promised a widow's peak in his future. But what caught Serge's attention were the man's eyes. Even in a photograph, the intelligence behind those blue eyes came through crystal clear. 

He snapped the file shut and tossed it on his desk. "I think you're right." This kind of rescue attempt has Sheppard written all over it. "Gods save us from misguided champions and heroic emissaries from other dimensions." 

He looked up to see Mitchell still standing there. "What?" 

"You weren't ever really thinking about acquiring McKay's brain without the rest of him along with it, were you, sir?" 

Serge let the silence hang between them for long seconds before finally saying, "Go see if McKay has picked up an extra house guest. If he hasn't yet, I'm sure he soon will be." 

*** 

Rodney stared hopefully at the coffee maker, willing it to brew faster. It had taken hours to get John settled and comfortable for the night and he hadn't dared sleep in. They weren't going to be safe here for long. He pushed open the curtains for a better view. It was only a matter of time before one of his nosy neighbors – .

"Smells good." 

Rodney jumped. He turned to see John standing behind him, one hip cocked and leaning against the counter. He was wearing a pair of Rodney's old sweat pants, which threatened to slide off his hipbones. Rodney knew this because John wasn't wearing anything else.

The morning light flattered the demon. He still looked pale and otherworldly even with the bulk of his wings tucked behind him. Coffee forgotten, Rodney's eyes traveled up the length of John's body from his bare toes to his – "Oh my God, what happened to your feathers?"

John winced. "The blow dryer left them kind of…can we not talk about it?"

"They're fluffy! You look like a long-haired cat that got too close to a lightning strike."

"Rodney, please…" John shuffled from foot to foot, refusing to meet Rodney's eyes. "It's embarrassing."

"No, seriously, my niece Madison once had a stuffed toy bunny that didn't look as soft and cuddly as–." 

"Rodney! Enough, okay?"

"Fine." Rodney tucked his hands under his arms, glad he'd come to his senses before he'd reached out and patted John's wings. "Well, at least have a cup of coffee. I don’t know if the caffeine will help, but it certainly makes me feel less fuzzy in the morning."

"Gee, thanks." John poured a cup for both of them. "You know, I'm having a hard time picturing you as fuzzy anything. Except maybe for the…" he circled a hand over his head, "hair." 

"Are you sure you want to discuss which of us is fluffier right now?" Rodney smiled into his coffee cup pleased at the attention. John had noticed his hair. Except, he couldn't let himself get sidetracked. As it was, he'd already exercised remarkable patience waiting this long before hitting John with a barrage of questions. 

John sat across the table, as much at ease as if he'd always lived there. With a tiniest pang of regret, Rodney broke the companionable quiet. "We need to talk."

"You mean you need to ask me some questions. Where am I from? What am I doing here? Have I always had wings?" John smiled at him over his coffee. "Hit me." 

"You won't get mad?"

"No Rodney, I won't get mad, not if it gets you to give up this ridiculous notion that I'm some kind of demon. I'm not, and your soul isn't at risk."

"Okay. Good. Um, sorry about, you know, thinking you were evil."

John leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I don't have to be a demon to be evil, Rodney."

"Thank you for spreading that comfort and any future hope I had of a good night's sleep!" 

It didn't change the fact that Rodney felt responsible for hurting him with his car. He reluctantly admitted that the least he could do was make sure John got home safe. "How are the wings? Still sore?"

"Much better. I usually keep them hidden, but that takes energy. More than I can rustle up when I'm tired or hurt. Do you want me to hide them now?"

"Yes." He stood when John did, and moved behind him for a better look. Fluffy or not, the wings were impressive. No light reflected off them, making them look even blacker than they had last night. At rest, they came up as high as John’s chin. They swept down the length of his back, the tips extending below the calf of his leg. "How do you make them vanish and reappear?"

"Watch." The light winked and the wings were gone. 

"Ha! I knew it!" Rodney stuck his face in the middle of John's shoulder blades, almost close enough to touch. "Quantum mechanics at play. Am I right? Of course I’m right."

Startled, John quickly turned and took a step back. 

"Did you know that for a millisecond a part of your back resembles a star field? I'm not sure if I'd stick my hand in it but I could take some readings, see how deep it goes…" Rodney caught a glimpse of John's face. "Or, we could just pretend I didn't see anything."

"Yeah. Let's do that."

"You really didn't know?" Rodney asked. 

"Never thought much about it. And I'd just as soon not think about it now. It's just part of who I am, Rodney."

"An interdimensional traveler, or is it multidimensional? You could tell us so much about quantum phases– are we even close to being on the right track?" 

John shook his head and groaned. "It's something I was born being able to do, I never thought about how. Heck, with that big brain of yours, you probably already understand it a lot better than I ever will."

"Huh. You're probably right." Before he could continue, the doorbell rang. "Crap, with my luck that's old Mrs. Penrose. She probably hobbled her way over just to make my life a living hell. I swear, John, she'd annoy the will to live out of anyone."

"She's going to call more attention to your house if you don't answer the door," John said.

"I know. But if she catches sight of you, we might as well announce your presence in the local paper. Stay out of sight, I'll get rid of her."

Rodney opened the door just wide enough to so that she could see his face. 

"Dr. McKay, I just wanted to check on you, make sure you were safe and dry after that wicked storm last night." She craned her neck trying to see into the apartment. Despite Rodney's best efforts, she caught sight of John protectively hovering behind him. 

"Thank you, I'm fine, Mrs. Penrose. You can go now. In fact, I insist on it." Rodney tried to shut the door in her face, but she blocked it with her cane.

"The mister thought he saw someone else in your car last night. Well, now, I just wanted to say how good it is to see you together with such a lovely young man." She winked. "Do come for tea Sunday. I'm sure we'd all like to know more about your new boyfriend. He's quite the handsome devil, isn't he?" 

"You have no idea." Rodney said, finally managing to shut the door in her face.

"You bring many men home with you?" John asked, a curious edge to his voice.

"Surprisingly, no. Believe it or not, there's a shocking deficit of men or women falling at my feet despite my obvious brilliance. Pity. They don't know what they're missing."

Rodney locked the door and leaned his head against it. They had no choice now; he had to get John out of here and somewhere safe. He stood, pushed away from the door and waved John into the kitchen. "Pack up any food that will travel well." He pushed a thermos into John's hand. "Make sure that's filled. I'm going to grab a few more things."

John didn't argue, and Rodney trusted he could manage on his own. As John began going through the cupboards, Rodney headed to the living room. He'd learned to fine tune his paranoia in Russia and was glad of it now. 

The old green tweed couch had seen better days but it served its purpose. Best of all, it had one long cushion instead of two so when he napped there were no cushions to separate leaving his ass exposed to the hard springs. Tipping the couch over, he unscrewed its hollow leg and pulled out his cache of concealed money, burner phone and flash drives. 

Somehow, going on the run to save someone from another dimension was not as farfetched as it should have been. Not since he found out quantum mirrors actually existed. So, if the multiverse wanted to play with one Dr. Rodney McKay, it was in for a huge letdown if it thought it could get the better of his genius.

He grabbed a packed duffle and gave a longing look at his favorite laptop. As much as he wanted to bring it along, he'd had it at Area 51 and there was a good chance security had placed a tracer on it. At least the most essential files were on the flash drives. Time to go.

Quickly they loaded up the car. Rodney glanced at his watch. "No more time."

John reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "No, there isn't. Rodney, there's something I have to tell you."

"Tell me on the way."

John shot him an exasperated look, but got into the car without further argument.

Rodney ignored every traffic rule he dared to. He only had a vague idea of where to head, choosing to travel east with some vague idea of contacting Major Carter for help. She might think he was a pig, but he couldn't imagine she wouldn't do everything she could to help John. A small flare of jealousy leaped out of nowhere when he pictured her holding Sheppard against her comforting and well-endowed bosom. 

Shaking the image loose, he anxiously asked John, "Are we being followed? Can you tell? We've got to get you somewhere safe. You have no idea how valuable you'd be to certain people." The Trust was the first to come to mind, but Rodney wouldn't discount the Russians, or even the American's NID. 

"Rodney. It's not me that's in danger, it's you. That's what I've been trying to tell you." 

John had pulled out a tee shirt and pair of sneakers from the duffle bag and dressed in the car while Rodney was busy driving. He rooted in one of the paper bags, pulling out the sandwiches he'd thrown together and handed one to Rodney. "Have you ever heard of the Secure Contain and Protect Foundation?"

*** 

"We heard from Agent Penrose." Serge stood leaning against his desk with his arms folded over his chest. Five other agents stood in the room waiting for his orders. Only Mitchell had had the initiative to act on this new information and was already on his way to McKay's house. The smallest doubt crossed his mind that, just possibly, he'd drilled his demand for obedience into his more experienced agents a little too thoroughly. 

"Penrose spotted Emissary Sheppard making himself at home at Dr. McKay’s residence. Sheppard escaped approximately twenty hours ago. Our window of opportunity closes in another forty-eight. I want him found and returned here before that happens."

One of his agents, a capable, pasty-faced man with little imagination, raised his hand. "What about Dr. McKay, sir?"

"Acquiring McKay may be a wash at this junction. However, it's a priority that he be separated from Sheppard ASAP. If they have time to bond, we'll lose every advantage we might have had with the IIC."

The same agent asked, "Sir, is it still the plan to have Cameron Mitchell bond with the Emissary? If so, we'll have to make sure he's on site at the time of capture."

Serge nodded, not happy with the direction these questions were taking. They had a job to do – namely bringing Sheppard in without creating a diplomatic incident. Getting side-tracked by speculation wasn't going to help. 

"I haven't told Mitchell about that part of our plan yet, so keep that tidbit under wraps until I have a chance to talk to him. We're on a ticking clock, people. Get out there and find them before we lose control of the situation!"

The agents filed out, leaving Serge with the depressing observation that, in reality, they'd already lost control of the situation. Damn it all to hell, they needed this treaty with the Interdimensional Interspecies Court, if only to take some of the more esoteric entities off their hands. The vein in his temple starting pounding again because he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Sheppard and McKay were going to screw it all to hell.

For a moment, he considered pulling back entirely and leaving Colonel O'Neill and his cronies to handle the fallout. He knew they'd had some experience with quantum realities, so they wouldn't be completely clueless. Then Serge reminded himself that the Foundation's job was to protect Earth, too. They just used other methods to deal with the threats. Secure – Contain – Protect, and they did it well. He stood a little straighter, determined to see this though to the end. 

***

Rodney rushed into the convenience store, throwing a couple of twenties down on the counter to pay for their gas. At the last second, he grabbed four bags of chips, and a handful of candy bars. After the things John had just described, he needed a good supply of junk food. 

The SCP Foundation wasn't the worst thing he'd ever heard of, sad to say. It's not as if they were the Goa'uld, and they'd certainly treated John better than the Trust would have. Rodney remained confused as to what an emissary's job actually was. John had been frustratingly vague on those details. 

Details he hadn't been vague on were the plans the SCP had for Rodney’s, brain. Naturally, Rodney had come to expect jealously for his brilliance. While some factions might even categorize his genius as dangerous, this was taking it to ridiculous extremes. Rodney shuddered. He liked his brain right where it was. 

How many people were after them? How far behind were they? What would they do to them if they caught up with them? These were essential questions in Rodney's book, but John had been surprisingly unhelpful. 

Just before going into the store he'd badgered, "Oh come on! You were the guest of the SCP for two months and you don't know anything?" 

"I know plenty. A whole lot more than you. They just never saw fit to fill me in on their plans for capture and containment." John returned his glare with equal force, along with an intimidating eyebrow raise that was unaccountably sexy. Rodney filed that away as something to try himself, next time. 

He gathered up his packages and hurried back to the car. They had hours left on the road, and he still had a lot more questions. 

He almost dropped everything as soon as he realized John wasn't alone. Rodney darted back into the store, on the verge of hyperventilating. This was bad, this was very, very bad. He couldn't stay here, hiding out in the store while John was in trouble.

On the other hand, now he knew there were people out there after his brain. What if this guy in the dark suit was one of them? Of course he was. Because that's how his luck ran. 

Staring out the glass door, he couldn't make out what they were saying, but John leaned against the car facing Dark Suit. He was doing that head tilt and smile thing he did so well. His hip cocked oh-so-provocatively towards the stranger in a way that made Rodney grit his teeth. 

He was about to barrel out the door, ready to throw his brain in the line of fire for the greater good when John's entire demeanor changed. No longer seductive and amused, he'd become something fierce and dangerous looking. 

He watched as John moved to stand between the stranger and the store entrance. It was oddly comforting to see John try to protect him like that. At the same time, Rodney couldn't let John do this alone. Before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed the door open. Still clutching his bags, he ran towards the car. 

"Stay down!" John yelled. 

Well, of course he was going to stay down, at least until he found what he was looking for. Rodney yanked everything out of the glove box. He found a road map for Montreal, a broken pencil and – oh – a slightly melted Kit Kat – good to know. 

Maybe it was under the seat? At risk of throwing his back out, Rodney began rummaging under the passenger seat. He spared a glance out the windshield and almost forgot what he was doing.

Oh shit, Dark Suit had friends. The fact that all of them dressed alike was a dead giveaway. They weren't exactly wearing suits, but they all wore black turtlenecks with some kind of loose jacket over it, along with black cargo pants and boots. If he squinted, he could make out some kind of Batman utility belt knock-off. It wasn't any kind of uniform Rodney recognized. 

Mouth dry, Rodney's brain spun over possible options for escape. By his count, it was now two against five. Crappy odds unless you were SG-1. He groaned. Where the hell had they all come from? 

John stood alone against them, and that felt so wrong Rodney's stomach clenched. He could help, he just had to find the damn – his hand hit against the box he'd been looking for and he dragged it out, setting it carefully on his knees. 

He opened the box and did a quick inventory. It was in parts, of course. Rodney wasn't about to drive around with a fully functional zat. What if he got in a car accident and somehow disintegrated himself? Besides, he could put it back together in under a minute. If John had a minute.

He looked up and his mouth fell open. John had fully winged out. Surrounded by SCP agents, he hovered above them, wings stirring up the dust, and blinding the men. As Rodney stared, John signaled him to move. 

"Oh!" Zat forgotten, Rodney slid behind the wheel and hit the gas. One of the men jumped in front of his car, waving his arms, just to leap out of the way when he realized Rodney had no intention of stopping. 

Almost sorry that the idiot had moved out of the way in time, Rodney drove as fast as he dared and still keep the car on the road. John could fly to him anytime, right? Surely he'd do just that, after giving Rodney a head start. Heart in his throat, he kept one eye on the rear view mirror, waiting for John to catch up. 

*** 

"He what?!" Serge yelled into the phone. 

"The Emissary got away, sir. I'm afraid we're stranded. I mean, none of our vehicles run, sir. Every one of our engines is filled with sand packed so tight they may as well be filled with cement. Um, we could use a ride back to base, sir."

Unfortunately, holding his phone in a choke hold wouldn't help him drag the information out of Agent Biles on the other end of the line. Serge settled for a growl instead. "Where's Mitchell?" 

"He didn't come with us – said he had a hunch he wanted to follow. He's on his way to Cheyenne Mountain. He mentioned a Major Carter, sir." 

Serge's temple throbbed. Another delay. Their timeline was closing in and if Mitchell's hunch didn't pan out, he'd have to figure out something to tell the IIC. How the hell they'd accept the news that their emissary had bonded with this particular human he had no idea, but he doubted it would go over well. "Tell me where you are, and I'll send transport."

After he hung up, Serge pulled up all the info they had on Major Carter. Deep-space telemetry, his ass – he knew better than that. This had O'Neill and conspiracy written all over it. Still, McKay had worked with her once, so maybe Mitchell's hunch was sound and McKay was turning to her for help.

Oh hell, he had to stop this. He couldn't let McKay or Sheppard get anywhere near the Cheyenne Mountain. Sadly, very few of them had O'Neill's common sense. If the military got their hands on the Emissary, they could all too easily mishandle the situation. Worse, they'd be bound to leak it to the IOA. Those fools were just idiotic enough to try imprisoning a valued interdimensional peacekeeper, even if it meant starting a war. One they had zero chance of winning. 

Serge took two aspirin and swallowed them dry. He had no doubt that Sheppard had pulled in that sandstorm from another dimension. Sheppard didn't just access it. He had the power to control it in a way that inflicted minimal damage to his agents while completely immobilizing their transport. Hell, he probably could have made the dust storm do a belly dance if he'd wanted to. 

Oh yeah, the shit would hit the fan unless Mitchell could keep these two away from the Mountain. 

The first time Serge had met John Sheppard, he’d thought they'd won the paranormal lottery. Up until now, he and his team had followed the Foundation's legacy. An entity would make its presence known – usually by a sighting. His agents would track it down, ascertain its threat, and, if needed, capture and contain said entity. Or, more often, capture and contain first, and ascertain the threat later. Serge didn't like taking chances. Then he could sit back, relax, and chalk it up to one more day of saving humanity. 

But John Sheppard had stepped through their doors willingly and introduced Serge to a whole damn court of interdimensional guardians in the process. Suddenly, dropped into his lap like Christmas and birthday presents combined, was an entire council of paranormal beings willing to help protect Earth. 

Before he could piss himself over it, the Court made it painfully clear he would be working with Emissary Sheppard. Serge still heard the capital letters in his head. Any collaboration he'd hoped for would have to go through the Emissary's hands. Suspicious, but with no real choice but to go along, Serge agreed to let Sheppard stay.

He hadn’t discovered until after he'd agreed that Sheppard could spontaneously bond to any one person he spent too much time with. Joy. Serge listened to some prattle from the Court explaining how that was a desirable trait in their emissaries. Frankly, that part had gone completely over his head. He’d found himself nodding, while forcibly reminding himself to keep his jaw from hanging open. 

After the Court's holographic communique blinked out, Sheppard stood there, smirking. Serge wanted to grab the recording device in Sheppard's hand and shake it until he could force the Court to answer more of his questions. Instead, his choices cut out from under him, he was left wondering how the hell he was going to set up adequate security. 

"How long is this going to take?" Serge asked Sheppard.

"Well, that depends on how long it takes to broker a treaty. You keep stumbling into things your species has no idea how to handle. I can help with that." 

"No. The other thing." 

Eyes narrowed, Sheppard folded his arms across his chest and fully unfurled his dark wings. A deep blackness had overshadowed everything else in the room as his wings reflected the Emissary's displeasure. Serge was sharply reminded to tread carefully. 

"Bonding? Three Earth days. Don't worry, Director McGovern. Despite what the Court says, there has to be at least a marginal attraction. You're perfectly safe." 

And now they were in this mess. Potential bonding loomed just hours away with a man Sheppard was clearly attracted to, but who had no loyalty to the SCP and Serge had no way to control. 

*** 

Part of John's escape plan meant changing vehicles. At John's insistence, they pulled off the highway and John immediately began unloading the car. "Take out everything you want to bring with us."

Curious, Rodney tucked the zat under one arm and oversaw the transfer of chips. John had already proven once that he was lousy at packing an adequate amount of junk food and he wasn't taking any chances with his Doritos. "Okay, now what?" 

Hands on his hips, John gave a quick inspection of their surroundings, including Rodney, who stood in the open field surrounded by their assorted belongings. "Stay here, McKay." 

With a last look around, John opened his wings. 

Rodney’s breath stuttered in his chest. They really were impressive, especially now that they'd lost all trace of fluffiness. The black wings contained a depth that had to be an illusion. For a moment, he almost believed he could reach out, push his hand straight into them, and never reach through to the other side.

Before he could suggest trying that, John had leapt up, his wings caught the air, and in the space between heartbeats, he was gone.

Rodney paced, muttering to himself. He checked his watch, again. "C'mon John, it's been a half hour. Where are you?" He’d pulled his car keys out of his pocket, juggling them in his hand. Part of him had wanted to ignore John's command to stay put, and just get in the car and drive off to safety. The rest of him knew he wouldn't.

It wasn't like him to rely on anyone, certainly not someone he’d barely met, who might not be remotely who or what he claimed to be. Rodney knew this, but despite the sheer illogic of it, he trusted John. The wings hadn’t fooled him into thinking John was some kind of benign spirit, either. Aside from the wings and his claim of good intentions, there was nothing remotely angelic about him.  
As he debated the number of points he should give John for trying to save his life, he realized a Jeep with fading camo paint was driving straight toward him. Rodney yelped, ready to run until he saw the driver. "You idiot! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" 

"Relax, Rodney." John cheerfully thumped the steering wheel. "This baby is going to get us the rest of the way. The SCP hasn't got a chance of tracing it. Come on, I'll help load our stuff."

"Did you just go to another dimension and steal a car?" 

"It's a Jeep, Rodney, with 4-wheel drive, all-terrain tires, and a steel skid plate. It's cool. Besides, I only borrowed it." 

Rodney shoved the bag of chips in the back. "And hopping over to another dimension – without telling me the plan – seemed the right thing to do? Do you have any idea how worried I was?" 

"Aw, you were worried about me." John had grinned, casting a sidelong glance in Rodney's direction. "Sorry. I had to go to three different places to find one with the keys still in it." 

"You went to three alternate realities – in a half-hour...." 

"Well, to be fair, it didn't seem that long," John protested. "I was trying to hurry." John laid his hand on Rodney's thigh and gave it a squeeze. "I didn’t mean to worry you." 

Rodney clamped his jaw shut. John's hand hadn't left his thigh and the warmth spreading from his palm felt like the only place on his body not locked up with tension. He refused to whimper within John's hearing. "Just drive, wingboy."

They made good time. Rodney introduced John to this Earth's Doritos, pleased to see they met with his approval, despite his preference for Cool Ranch over Original. They discussed the merits of Batman vs Superman and their possible versions across the multiverse. Sheppard had to be pulling his leg about the purple capes, but he couldn't prove it – yet. 

Eventually, John said, "It’s getting dark. We need to find a place to stop for the night. Somewhere we won't call attention to ourselves."

"And, I still need to call Major Carter. She might be able to help." For the first time since that morning, Rodney thought they might get out of this in one piece. Grateful that John seemed comfortable with driving, he closed his eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep.

John elbowed Rodney in the side. "City limits."

It seemed like they wove through the streets for an hour before finding a place. Bleary-eyed and pale with fatigue, Rodney checked them in, paying cash for a double room. They were as safe here as they were going to be anywhere.

With the weight of the room key pressed into his palm, he rolled the tension out of his shoulders. At least now they could order room service instead of chewing day-old sandwiches. Thank god, because Rodney didn't care to press their luck food shopping after last time. 

Exhausted, Rodney dropped his packages onto the nearest chair and sank down on the bed. Toeing off his shoes, he decided it would be easier to just sleep in his clothes and fell back on the bed, ready to sleep for a week. Through blood-shot eyes, he watched John as he moved over to the window and lowered the blinds. 

Their hotel room looked like a thousand other budget hotels designed for weary business travelers: two beds, a microwave, mini fridge, coffee maker, and a standard bathroom. Not the Taj Mahal, but so nondescript that in a city with a hundred just like it, finding them would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. The sheets were clean, and as long as the shower had hot water, Rodney wouldn't complain. 

A pissed-off looking John turned to him and demanded, "What were you thinking, running out to the car like that? The Foundation could have captured you."

Rodney raised himself up on one elbow. "Excuse me for thinking that two of us would do a better job of getting away than one of us doing all the work alone," he snapped back. "And… it's possible I might be a little hung up on the part where they want my brain."

"Well it's a very nice brain, so let's just worry about keeping it in its original package, okay?" 

"That's what I'm trying to do!" 

John sat down next to him and placed his hand on Rodney's shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "That's why I'm here, to keep you safe. Just don't make my job any harder, okay?"

"I'll make you a deal. We'll keep each other safe. Now go to bed, you look as tired as I feel. Even your wings are droopy." Tired or injured – Rodney remembered John explaining how that made it harder to hide his wings. He had the sinking feeling he was missing something. "John, are you hurt?"

"It's nothing." Standing, he kept one wing curled protectively over his left side. The side that had taken the brunt of the impact with Rodney's car.

"Bullshit. You are hurt." Rodney got up, wide-awake now. "Idiot. You reinjured yourself, didn't you? Don't waste my time denying it." He moved to push John's wing to the side and froze. "Can I touch you here?"

John nodded. 

Rodney gently moved John's wing aside, manfully ignoring the warm tingle that shot through his fingers at the touch. He lifted the edge of John's shirt. "Can you take this off?"

"Not unless you cut it off. I don't have enough energy left to phase the wings out. Sorry."

After several wasted minutes tracking down a pair of scissors and a bucket of ice, he carefully cut John's shirt off. "Well, that looks horrible. Nothing's broken?"

"I don't think so. I can move everything. Hurts like a fucker, though."

A purpling bruise ran the length of his ribcage. Rodney ran his hands lightly over John's ribs, feeling for breaks. He did his best to not get distracted by the trembling muscles under his fingers.

"You weren't bruised up like this even after I hit you with my car. What happened? Did the SCP goons do this?" 

"Not exactly." John looked up and noticed Rodney expression. Whatever he saw there apparently encouraged him to continue. "You know it's easy for me to move through dimensions. It's as simple as picturing a window and flying through. The downside is that there's no way of knowing what I might fly into."

Rodney stared at him in horror. "And you did this three times just to bring us that Jeep? What happened? Was there a brick wall in every dimension?"

John snorted. "No. But there was a highway."

Rodney had a sudden vision of John smacking into a Mac truck. "No more of that, okay? From now on, stay here in this dimension."

"Stay here with you, you mean?" John asked, softly.

Rodney's skin tingled where John's warm hand laid over his, but he didn't pull away.

*** 

"Major Carter, this is Rodney McKay. Please don't hang up, I need your help." 

Rodney held the phone in one hand and his coffee in the other. John was there, too, but he seemed more interested in chasing down the last smear of cream cheese for his breakfast bagel than listening in. 

"McKay, I thought you might call," Carter's voice on the other end of the line sounded concerned, which was odd. Frankly, he was just relived she'd taken his call.

"I can't talk long, so listen," Carter said, keeping her voice low. "Don't come to the mountain. I'm giving you the location of a safe house. Colonel O'Neill is due back from PX-497 in a couple of days. You should be safe there until he's back and we can figure something else out."

"What are you talking about?" Rodney demanded. He'd should have known something was off the moment Carter said she was expecting his call. 

"We've received recent Intel that gives us every reason to believe that you and your companion are in danger."

"My –." Rodney shot a glance at John. "How do you know I'm traveling with someone?"

"McKay! Do you really want to get into that now?" 

Rodney grabbed a pen and wrote down the directions Carter rattled off. "Got it." 

"Don't call again. We'll come to you, and McKay? Good luck." 

He stared down at the phone. "She hung up." 

John came over and took the phone out of his hand. "Did she say she would help?"

"She gave us a location. It means another twenty hours on the road, but she did say the cabin was fully stocked with plenty of coffee." 

John had moved closer while Rodney was talking. So close that Rodney could smell him, could see the individual hairs of his eyelashes and watch the way the color of his eyes changed with the light. He'd healed a lot overnight. Still bruised, but he was moving a lot easier. Most notably, he was strong enough to hide his wings again.

That was a shame, but for the best. Rodney wanted to lean into John, a ridiculous impulse, of course. He'd deny that it had anything to do with waking up in the night with one of John's wings curled protectively over him. 

John was a creature from another dimension. He'd hardly be interested in – not in the way Rodney – he sighed. Best to quash that idea, and move on before he embarrassed himself. Still feeling frozen to the spot, he raised his chin, forcing a steadiness into his voice he sure as hell didn't feel. "It's a long drive. We should go."

Disappointment flashed across John's face. Without a word, he took a step back, turned and began packing up their few belongings. He barely glanced at Rodney the entire time. 

Rodney worried that he'd just made the rest of their trip awkward and uncomfortable, but whatever awkwardness he expected between them dissolved in the face of John's easy humor. That, and the fact that John clearly loved driving the Jeep.  
Rodney's eyes kept drifting down to watch John's hand on the stick shift. John couldn't seem to stop fondling the damn thing while he drove, and Rodney was beginning to feel caught in the middle of a love/hate relationship with that stupid stick. 

John's long, graceful fingers caressed the stickshift, moving over the shaft, rubbing the knob with his thumb. And when he did shift gears, his grip was firm and certain. Rodney was almost certain John wasn't doing it on purpose. Almost. 

He found himself reluctant to turn his eyes away, but, at the same time, he wanted John's hand back on his thigh where it belonged. Rodney's head dropped, hitting the headrest with a soft thunk. This was going to be a very long trip.

"Judging by your propensity for acquiring bruises, I'm assuming trying to escape the SCP by jaunting to another dimension has its drawbacks," Rodney said. He had to say something to distract himself from John's… everything. He might as well get some information out of him. 

"It's not a great idea, no. What I really need is a way to check my landing before I jump." 

Rodney snapped his fingers. "A quantum mirror! Preferably one that won't kill us all in the process." 

"Exactly." John shot a wide grin in his direction. "It just might have come to the attention of the Court that you've had some experience with one of those." 

"Is that what you're really doing on this Earth? Nothing good ever came from any encounter with quantum mirrors and I've studied one for years." By now, Rodney's hands were waving, making his point for him. "Seriously, you should not know anything about that, not without signing a non-disclosure agreement."

John reached out and grabbed Rodney's hand, stilling it. "I know. I know all about your work with the quantum mirror. Every time you stepped within its transdimensional field, I felt it. Felt you. Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to meet you in person?" A tender smile played over John's lips. "You understand the multiverse better than my own people do. It's…it's pretty damn impressive."

"Really?" John was still holding onto his hand, and Rodney forcibly dragged his thoughts back to the discussion. It took a minute. Two, at most. 

"My work on quantum mirrors – is that what you really came for? Because I'm not really sold on this emissary business you've been going on about," Rodney said, neglecting to point out how John was still holding his hand.

"That's actually true. The Court hasn't got the balls to go traipsing through the multiverse themselves, so they find someone to do it for them." John shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time." 

"Why come here?" 

"Your world has more paranormal and alien activity than most, and it caught the Court's attention. You shouldn't have quantum mirrors, alien invasions or half the crap the SCP finds and detains. Something is influencing your planet and causing more than its fair share of trouble. On the upside, the Court is sincere about helping. What?" 

"Ah." Rodney pulled his hand away, suddenly needing to rub his sweaty palms on his pants. "Does your Court know about the Stargate?" 

"The star – what?"

"Shit. I think I know what's causing at least some of the problem." One look at John's face convinced him that he needed to fill John in, signed non-disclosure agreement or not. "God, I'm going to be so fired for this." As Rodney began explaining the Stargate program, John's eyebrows climbed even higher. 

*** 

Deciding they needed to stop for the night, they pulled off the highway in Dickerson. "Oh thank God, a Walmart. We can resupply."

John rubbed his eyes and yawned. "I know. But save it for morning. I won't be able to keep my wings out of sight much longer if I don't get some rest."

"You could have let me drive, you know."

"No offense, but I've seen you drive." John made a twirling motion with his hand. "Didn't feel like adding another day to the trip."

"Ha. Very funny." Rodney turned the empty chip bag upside down and shook it. One lone crumb fell and bounced against his knee. "Maybe we should get something to eat." He looked at John, worried. "Can you hold out that long?"

"How about we find a place to crash and order take-out?" 

"You know, you have a disturbingly firm grasp of Earth vernacular. Should I be worried about that?"

"It's one Earth in a multiverse. There's a few that are really whacked out, but most of them aren't all that different from each other."

Even John's smile looked tired, and Rodney had him pull into the first hotel they saw. It seemed like a great idea. There was even a pizza joint on the same block. The one drawback came when they walked into their room and discovered it only had one bed.

John tugged off his shirt and, with a relieved-sounding sigh, allowed his wings to fully manifest. He collapsed on the bed face first, his wings unfurling and spreading out until they took up most of the bed. 

"Of course you'd hog the one bed in the room. I don't know why I'd imagined anything different."

That seemed to perk John up. "You imagined being in bed with me?"

"No!" Rodney fumbled for the doorknob. "I'll go get pizza. I mean, I'll order it. I'm sure there's a phone at the front desk."

"Rodney," John said patiently, "there's a phone right here." Amusement rolled through his voice when he added, "Once your blood sugar is back to normal, we can discuss exactly how you pictured being in bed with me." 

They never did have that conversation. By the time Rodney finished paying for the pizza, John was sound asleep. He set John's half to one side. Carefully, he sat on one corner of the bed, still juggling a slice of warm pizza in his hands, and allowed himself the rare opportunity to inspect the wings more closely without John distracting him. 

Maybe John could feel him staring, or maybe it was just the smell of pizza getting through to that sleepy head. Whatever the cause, John turned his head and opened his eyes. "You could just ask to touch them. I don't mind."

"Really?"

"Of course, now you'll have to wait until I eat." John reached out, snagged Rodney's mostly uneaten piece of pizza out of his hands, and took a big bite. "Mm, s'good."

"You're going to get cheese and sauce all over the bed," Rodney huffed. 

"S'worth it." John pulled up the soft cheese with his fingers and sucked it into his mouth.

Rodney's brain froze. Other parts of him did not. "I should go…." His eyes darted frantically around the room. "Bathroom! I should go there and…uh, shave. Right, good idea." 

John's heavy-lidded gaze felt like a brand as Rodney rubbed at the bristles on his chin to emphasize his point. "Shaving. Now." 

"So you said." John bit into the last of his pizza, not looking the least perturbed at Rodney's blatant excuse to avoid embarrassing himself. Instead, he patted the bedside, saying, "Don’t worry, I'll be right here waiting for you when you get back." 

He was doomed to embarrass himself, he just knew it, and staring at John wasn't helping matters. Suddenly, overwhelmingly, a fierce heat of possessiveness washed through him. He wanted to come on those soft, dark feathers, rut against them and find out how soft they'd feel against his hot, hard cock. He wanted his come smeared all over them, claiming John as his in the most primal way possible.

Heat rising in his cheeks, Rodney made his way to the bathroom as quickly as his current condition would allow. 

***

Serge sat at his desk, plotting out the situation's damage control. Sheppard and McKay had managed to avoid his best agents. On the other hand, thanks to Mitchell's efforts, Carter had warned them away from Cheyenne Mountain before anyone else found out about the Emissary. 

They'd fallen off the radar, leaving their car on the side of the road and disappearing without a trace. But they'd been heading north, and if his hunch held, McKay was heading to Canada and taking Sheppard with him. Since Canada was out of his jurisdiction, someone in their Canadian office would have to handle Sheppard and McKay. Thank god.

Even so, his problems were far from over. Due to Sheppard's missed check-in, the IIC was beginning to ask questions. How were the negotiations proceeding? Why hadn't Emissary Sheppard responded to their call? So far, Serge had been able to put them off by intimating that there was something interfering with his communications signal. 

He was staring at the communication device on his desk when stream of static burst from the device. Serge was so accustomed to the paranormal that he never questioned how the ensuing pause sounded embarrassed. 

"Director McGovern, we...."

Serge waited through another embarrassed pause. 

"Some of us feel you should know that Emissary Sheppard is something of a maverick among his kind. He… he was not our first choice. However, when we asked for volunteers to travel to your dimension, Sheppard was the only one who said yes." 

A few hurried whisperings later, another member of the Court cleared his throat and added, "But, we can assure you, Director, that his family line holds a long history of ambassadorial successes."

Interesting, they didn't seem inclined to blame him for their emissary striking out on his own, but Serge still wished they'd warned him about Sheppard's damn hero complex. He shut the device off without a reply; let them think it was still broken while he tried to figure out if this new information changed anything.

He swallowed a couple of aspirin dry, and chewed down on a third – the bitterness suited his mood. Serge decided the Court's pansy-ass bullshit could wait. Besides, with luck he'd be passing the joy onto his Canadian counterpart in a few days. Let him explain the Sheppard-McKay bond to the Court. If nothing else, it ought to be worth the price of popcorn.

Meanwhile, he had a new paranormal crisis to deal with. Dozens of Bigfoot sightings were cropping up in Yellowstone. Serge would have to pull his men off Sheppard's trail to handle the problem. It didn't exactly break his heart. 

He toyed with the idea of taking a vacation. God, he couldn't remember the last time… . A ticket to Yellowstone to oversee the Bigfoot cover-up before the evidence leaked to the public could be just what he needed. 

Telepathic Bigfoot were a pain in the ass but their clan mother had a wicked sense of humor. What the hell, maybe he could talk her into taking her entire clan to Canada, too. It wouldn't fit his image to smile, but for a half-second he thought about it.

***

Rodney was starting to wonder if the road would ever end. It was near midday when John turned onto a single lane gravel road. The road changed to a rutted trail of packed dirt and for five kilometers seemed to get worse by the minute. Eventually the road turned so narrow – barely a glorified goat path – that if he reached his hand out the window he could touch the tree leaves.

What could Sam have been thinking to be so sure they'd be safe in some cabin in these god-forsaken woods? Surrounded by forest with no place to run, if someone was still on their tail they didn't have a prayer of getting away. 

If Sam was right, if they were safe here, holed up in a place promising all the rustic glory of something out of _Deliverance_ , he sure as hell hoped it wouldn't be for so long that they ran out of coffee. 

John maneuvered the Jeep carefully around a pothole. He'd grown quieter as they'd gotten closer to their destination, and Rodney didn't think it had anything to do concentrating on the road. 

"We're here." John pointed to a large, comfortable-looking cabin. "It's bigger than I thought it would be."

"Looks like Sam came through for us. Now, let's hope it's as well stocked as she said it was. C'mon, let's get our stuff inside."

They moved briskly, piling everything into the kitchen to sort later. Rodney, for one, was grateful to be moving after sitting and riding for hours. "Now, to find the coffee pot."

John turned toward him with an expression on his face that Rodney couldn't read. It looked like anticipation, regret and nervousness all rolled into one. "John?" 

"There's something I have to tell you. Should have told you that first night." John raked his hands through his hair. He turned his face away from Rodney. "I thought I could do this without – just do it, you know? Didn't think to ask, because I was so sure that you'd be fine with it." 

 

John's wings emerged, a fluttering, black cloud of feathers giving Rodney all the proof he needed of John's honest distress. 

"Why would you even want to be with someone like me," John continued. His raised his head, finally looking Rodney in the eyes. "In my defense, I believed, and still do, that it's the best way to keep you safe." 

Rodney waved an impatient hand. "I have no idea what you're talking about other than you've done something stupid. Get over it. Ninety-nine percent of the people around me do something stupid a dozen times day, and usually they're running to me to fix it. Whatever it is, we can fix this, John."

"Not this. Not unless we never see each other again." 

"That is not an acceptable option." Rodney stepped into John's space. The urge to reach out and pull John into his arms nearly overwhelmed him. Instead, he firmed his jaw, put every degree of determination into his voice he could muster, and said, "You aren't getting rid of me, so tell me what's going on."

John bent his head, and Rodney – for a moment – was certain John was going to kiss him. 

"It's called bonding. It started when you touched me that first night. I didn't have to let it happen. I knew you had no idea that it even could happen, but I did it, anyway."

"A bond with me? Why…?" Rodney snapped his fingers. "You thought if we were bonded, the SCP would leave me alone! Ha! I’m right, aren't I? That was your big plan all along to protect me!" 

John nodded. "It's not complicated. As my bonded mate, they can't touch you without risking a war with my people, which they won't. It doesn't excuse the fact that I didn't ask." Softly, he added, "I'm not sure this makes it any better, but you should probably know, I've wanted you for a long time."

"Really? Me? Well, of course you did. But we're not bonded yet, or you'd be gloating about bagging the smartest man in the galaxy instead of wallowing in useless regret – which would be very considerate of you, I suppose, if you were with someone who cared about that crap."

"Rodney? Does that mean you're willing to go through with this – all the way? With me?"

"Idiot. Bond or no bond, you saved my life. That's not something I'm ever going to forget." He curled both fists into John's shirt and tugged him closer. A thrill shot through him when John's wings encircled him, encouraging him to step closer. A tilt of his chin and their lips would meet. 

"What do we need to do to seal this deal?" Rodney's warm breath ghosted over John's cheek.

"Kiss me." 

"Oh hell, yes." Finally. Rodney felt like he'd been waiting for this moment his entire life. He couldn't tell who moved first, only that when their lips met, he fell into the kiss. Rodney's world held its breath as John lips met his. A sweet and tender kiss until it wasn't, because Rodney had to have more – had to. "John."

"I've got you," John whispered against Rodney's mouth. "Always." 

Hanging onto each other, they stumbled into the living room. Oh good, a couch. A nondescript tan, it was wide, solid, and perfect for making out. .Rodney didn't care that ramming his knee against it would leave a bruise because he'd just managed get John's shirt off despite the wings. He could figure out exactly how the mechanics worked later, right now he had naked skin to touch. He fell backwards onto the couch and pulled John down with him. 

There was something strange, something different he needed to pay attention to. He skimmed his hands along John's bare side. "Your bruise, it's completely gone." For the life of him, Rodney couldn't stop rubbing his fingers over the place John's bruise used to be.

"It's the bond. I started healing the moment you touched me. I know you didn't know anything about it, but your instincts were spot on." John gently stroked Rodney's jawline with his thumb . "If our bond had been complete I would have healed in minutes, not hours."

Rodney narrowed his eyes. "Sounds like voodoo. I'm going to need more data on this." 

Smile teasing at the corner of John's mouth, he undid Rodney's pants and pulled them and his shoes off, tossing them to the side. "Shirt." 

Rodney pulled off his shirt, leaving his hair in wild tuffs, and tossed it onto their growing pile of clothes. "You, too." 

John didn't seem inclined to hurry turning the process of removing his pants into a slow tease.

"Oh my god, this is excruciating – will you hurry up, already!" 

"Is this better?" 

Naked, John hovered above him, wings spread, either for balance or just to show off, Rodney couldn't tell. Didn’t matter. His mouth went dry, and he leaned up with his entire body, trying to get closer. 

"Easy." John skimmed his hand along Rodney's bare leg, stopping when he came to his sore knee. He placed soft, easy kisses on Rodney's abused knee. "Better?" 

Rodney couldn't have cared less if he even had knees at that point. But John seemed to be waiting for an answer, so he nodded, and manfully agreed, "Nrrgg." 

He hadn't done this, not since his experimental phase in college, but god, he wanted it now. Wanted John to fuck him – fuck him hard and make him feel it into next Thursday. 

"I…need…please," were the only words he managed to force past his throat. Thank god, John understood. 

"Rodney, to do that we need lube."

"Fuck. We must have something somewhere."

"Do you want me to jaunt over to another universe for lube?" John asked, amused.

"No! No jaunting through the multiverse without me, got it?"

The understanding on John's face was almost enough to turn his bones to water. 

"No leaving you. Not ever. Got it." John hovered over him with a predatory glint in his eye.

Maybe it shouldn't have been so hot, but the way John looked at him, like he was John's own personal, chocolate-covered wish fulfillment, had Rodney digging his hands into the couch cushions and lifting his hips, his whole body begging for John to just get with the program and touch him already.

John did. With his hands and mouth and – oh God, yes – tongue. Slowly, John explored every inch of him, stopping often to kiss Rodney's mouth. Rodney blissfully sighed into each kiss. How had he not realized this was what he needed? Didn't matter, John knew. 

He tangled his fingers in John's thick hair and held him still, deepening the kiss. They had time. Putting his own needs aside, Rodney began to map John's body with his hands. Warm skin, very male and very aroused urged him onward as John responded to his touch. Rodney groaned, caught between the choices of exploring John's wings or finding out what John's come tasted like. 

"Please," John whined, hitching his hips forward. "Your mouth."

Rodney decided the wings could wait. 

John moved up, straddling Rodney, his cock swaying inches from Rodney's mouth. Taking both of Rodney's hands, he pinned them down above his head. "I want you like this."

Oh God, John was going to fuck his mouth. The blood rushed to Rodney's cock so fast he thought he might pass out. 

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted you like this?" John asked, voice husky with want. 

Rodney shifted, trying to urge John forward just that little bit more so that he could taste him. John got the message. He rubbed the head of his cock over Rodney's bottom lip, teasing his way in. 

Fuck teasing. Reaching up, he pinched John's nipples hard and tugged. As a plan to get John to push deeper into his mouth it worked. The needy grunt John made was just icing on the cake. 

Rodney sucked, cheeks hollowing with the effort. He worked his throat around John's thick length, wishing he had hours to do this. When John pulled away, Rodney bit back a whimper. "Nooo."

"Easy." John pressed his finger against Rodney's lips. "I have an idea.

Rodney confusion dissolved when John turned around and he understood exactly where he was going with this. Briefly, black wings hovered over his face, giving birth to entirely new fantasies. Before he could run his hand over the wings, John had angled himself over Rodney in a perfect sixty-nine position. Genius really, and he intended to compliment John on his brilliance – when his mouth wasn't full. 

Rodney arched into John's mouth. Fuck, he could feel John smiling around his cock while his hands pressed his hips down, forcing Rodney to hold still. 

God, John's tongue did things brought new meaning to the word nasty. He rolled tongue around the head of Rodney's cock keeping him on the edge. He played; rough licks alternating with sweet suckling or nipping kisses until Rodney wanted to howl. 

Wanting to get even, he dug his heels into the couch cushions. Braced, he took John's cock in deep and let it scrap the sides of his throat. He swallowed roughly letting John feel the power of his throat muscles working him. 

In retaliation, John ran his fingers down the crack of Rodney's ass. The only hint that he wasn't as coordinated as he let on was the way his fingers shook. When his thumb pressed against the sweet spot behind his balls, Rodney broke. 

He was both embarrassed that was going to be over so soon and smug because John wasn't doing any better, judging from the way he humped Rodney's face and moaned. 

Licking up the last drops of come, he weakly patted John's thigh. "Get up here."

He never thought of himself as much of a snuggler, but he'd gotten used to falling asleep under John's protective wings. 

"Admit it," Rodney said, poking John gently in the shoulder. "I win at demon wrestling."

"Hey, no demon name calling," John protested, nuzzling at Rodney ear. 

Happy, sticky and sated, Rodney idly wondered if this fully stocked cabin meant there was lube to be found. He'd just made a decision to check the bedroom when his gaze fell on one of the photographs sitting on the fireplace mantel. SG-1 in all their heroic glory stared back at him. 

"Oh, my God –this is – I – we just had sex in Colonel O'Neill's cabin! John, if he finds out, we are so screwed. He'll send me back to Russia in a heartbeat." He rolled away from John and reached for his pants. This was the last place he wanted to be found with his ass hanging out. 

"No one is sending you anywhere," John growled. 

"Okay, right right." Rodney breathed a sigh of relief. He could feel John's determination through their bond, and leaned into it, letting John's confidence ease his nerves. "I do trust you, more than my own family, but we should still come up with a plan." 

The flash of light wasn't much of a surprise. Rodney had expected it from the moment he realized whose cabin this was. At least they'd had time to get their clothes back on and sponge the worst of the stains off the couch. 

Colonel Jack O'Neill stood in front of them with a six pack of beer in one hand and a fishing pole in the other. "Carter said she told you to make yourself at home here. Glad to see you took her up on that. Had a chance to go…" Rodney could feel O'Neill's eyes on him, assessing his pink cheeks and mussed hair. Jack raised one eyebrow. "…fishing yet?"

Rodney's cheeks grew even hotter, but John, the bastard, just leaned back and smirked. He was saved further embarrassment by the sound of a truck pulling up outside.

"Right on time." Jack said. 

John stiffened. "McGovern." 

Rodney didn't question John's certainty because he could feel it the truth of it through their bond. 

Still bristling, John moved to stand protectively in front of Rodney. "What is he doing here?"

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Emissary." Jack cleared his throat and held out his hand. "John Sheppard, isn't it?"

Tensely, John answered, "Emissary, or Emissary Sheppard, to you and McGovern, if you don't mind. No offense, but it serves to keep things in perspective."

"Gotcha." O'Neill tilted his head in a barely acknowledged bow. "I think everyone here can agree, Emissary, that no one wants to risk an interdimensional war. That's one reason I asked McGovern to meet me here. Between all of us we can make sure that doesn't happen."

"So, we're all going to go outside, have ourselves a beer while it's still cold, do a little fishing, and figure out what to do with you guys. Peacefully." O'Neill nodded towards the door. "After you."

Serge McGovern stood waiting for them outside. "You screwed up with my plans to go to Yellowstone, Jack. I hope you've got a good reason…ah, I see you've found Sheppard and McKay. No wonder you need my help."

"It's Emissary Sheppard and Dr. Rodney McKay, " O'Neill admonished. "Best not to forget that."

"Hrump. Well, it's clear they've bonded by now. What do you intend to do about it, Colonel?" 

"Get off your high horse, Serge. I know perfectly well your nose is only bent out of shape because you wanted the Emissary to bond with Major Mitchell. By the way, I want my pilot back."

"Cameron Mitchell?" Rodney stage whispered to John. "Seriously?" 

John shrugged.

Rodney narrowed his eyes, about to snap back a retort when O'Neill shoved a cold beer into his hand. 

"Relax, McKay. It didn't happen, although it’s pretty clear something did." O'Neill pointed to Rodney's mouth.

He reached up, horrified to find traces of dried come stuck to the corner of his mouth. John, the asshole, just grinned at him, looking entirely too smug for his own good.

"So, as I was saying, Serge, you give me Mitchell and I'll take full responsibility for these two," O'Neill said, nodding in Rodney's direction. 

"Fine, he's yours. I'll have the paperwork completed for his reassignment by the end of the week."

"You'll have it done by end of the day."

McGovern sighed. "Fine, Jack. By end of day. Just between us, I don't think he was going to work out long-term, anyway." 

"Mitchell not callous enough for you?" O'Neill asked, looking vaguely superior. 

"Don't act like that with me, Jack, like you haven't had to make the hard decisions to keep the planet safe. I know better."

"Fine. Point made." O'Neill saluted him with his beer. 

Rodney watched the entire encounter between O'Neill and McGovern while nervously waiting to find out what his own outcome would be. He couldn't be separated from John. He wouldn't be. 

John reached out and grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together. "They can't separate us, Rodney. I'll throw the both of them into another universe if they even look like they're trying to."

Swallowing thickly, Rodney leaned into John. Their bond told him how deeply John meant every word.

McGovern turned a laser-like gaze onto the two of them. "O'Neill, can you keep Sheppard from retaliating? He's not looking too happy with us." 

O'Neill gave them both a long, calculating look. "Hm, let me guess, if we can keep McKay safe, then Emissary Sheppard is happy, and if the Emissary is happy, then the odds of a war go way down. That about right?" 

"That would be the gist of it," John answered. He held up their entwined hands. "Our safety and freedom for as much influence as I possess to keep the interdimensional peace."

"I hate quantum realities," Serge growled. "Give me good, old-fashioned monsters and Earth style paranormal any day."

"Then it's a good thing it's not your problem, anymore," O'Neill dryly agreed. "Now then, Dr. McKay, I have an idea to keep the two of you out of trouble."

Rodney perked up. Finally, they were getting somewhere. 

"You've been working on the quantum mirror project in Area 51. Well, General Hammond believes it's more trouble and more dangerous than it's worth and wants to scrap it. I can't say as I blame him." 

O'Neill held up his hand, staving off Rodney's protest before he could even get started. "Easy, McKay, hear me out before you fly off the handle. I'd like to keep you on that project, but move it off world. Seems to me that it's tailor-made for the pair of you." 

In Rodney's mind, having a preview into a world prior to traveling to it could only be a good thing. If nothing else, it would prevent John and him from smacking into things they couldn't see. "We'll do it."

John spoke up. "Find us a safe planet with wide open skies and room to fly, and move the mirror there. Do that, and I'll agree."

"There you go, Jack." McGovern hoisted his now empty bottle in a toast. "No war. Nothing gets destroyed. If the Emissary is happy the Court is happy, better yet, you don't have either of those two," he waved the bottle in John and Rodney's direction, "constantly underfoot."

Rodney sniffed, certain that this SCP guy, half drunk on one bottle of beer, wouldn't have known what to do with Rodney's superior brain if he had managed to get his hands on it. 

"I don't know anything about this off-planet business and I don't want to know, but, if it keeps the IIC off my ass, well," a rusty smile cracked McGovern's face, making even O'Neill pause in shock. "Then I say, amen to that."

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended as my entry for the Conspiracy Challenge. Certain references to the fictitious SCP Foundation including their mission statement can be found [ at their wiki page](http://www.scp-wiki.net/). Serge is an original character made up for the purposes of this story.
> 
> Many thanks to mezzo_cammin for the beta.


End file.
